Mind Control
by Jai68
Summary: Things begin going wrong around the mansion, and all the evidence points to the one person who couldn't possibly be responsible: Charles Xavier. Can the Xmen figure out what's happening in time to save the world from everyone's favourite villain? Chap10!
1. Sunday by the Shore

My first ever attempt at ff; kindly let me know what you think! I have the plot line set up for this story, but am still crafting the chapters, so any suggestions for what you would like to see clarified can probably be accommodated. The real meat of this story should start to emerge around chapter four, but why not have some fun and foreshadowing until then, ja? J

Chapter One: Sunday by the Shore

Dragging a blue finger listlessly through the water, Kurt Wagner watched the morning light dance upon the rippling waves of the lake. It was early, much earlier than he was used to rising on a Sunday, but sleep had been hard to come by, and he had left the Mansion in desperation shortly after dawn. Retreating to the edge of the property, to the shore of the lake that usually soothed him, Kurt had lain on his stomach in the shade of a towering old oak tree, trying not to dwell on the previous evening's events. Trying, in particular, not to dwell on one specific event that was the cause of his current state of distress.

"Kurt?"

Kurt started at the unexpected sound of a voice behind him. He whipped around, anxiously searching for the source, and allowed a small, slightly embarrassed smile to escape having found her. "Jean," he breathed, putting a furry hand over his heart. "You scared me, mein friend. Vat are you doing up so early?"

Jean Grey stepped into the clearing, smiling at the irony of the question placed before her. "I could ask you the same question," she quipped, "I was out for my run, and nobody is ever awake before I get back. Well, Logan sometimes," she amended, "but never on the weekend." As she sat down beside him and teased her long hair out of its elastic hair band, Kurt shook his head in dry amusement. As much as the mansion's occupants, chiefly Rogue, teased Jean about her inclination toward perfectionism, he sometimes took it a step further and wondered if Jean Grey's mutant abilities had manifested themselves in a third form besides telepathy and telekinesis. Because only Jean could go running through a forest on a reasonably warm spring day, in white cotton shorts no less, and still appear before him perfectly immaculate, not a drop of perspiration or a stray hair to be seen. Amazing.

She smiled at him, tilting her head to the side in a slightly inquisitive manner. "And now," she teased, "I _am_ going to ask you the same question. Because the mansion is about a mile behind us and it is 8 a.m. on a Sunday morning. Not that I'm not thrilled to see you before the mad pancake rush hour begins, but why are you out here so early?" Kurt shrugged his shoulders and gazed out across the lake, deliberately avoiding meeting Jean's eyes. "I couldn't sleep," he murmured. "Because of last night?" she asked him, lowering her voice to match the softness of his tone. He didn't answer, but the waves of guilt and shame emanating from the young teleporter, the ones that had distracted Jean from her morning ritual and drawn her to the clearing by the lake in the first place, increased substantially, taking her breath away momentarily and bringing tears to her eyes. "Kurt," she started softly, but he cut her off.

"Don't tell me that it vasn't my fault, Jean. It vas. I vas supposed to protect her, ja? I failed, and she is hurt, all because of me." Unbidden, the scene from the Danger Room played before his eyes, as it had been doing ever since its occurrence. The mission was fairly simple: rescue their teammates, who were being held captive by Magneto. If they failed to make the rescue within fifteen minutes, their time was up and the simulation was over. Cyclops was in charge of distracting Magneto, while Kitty was to locate the hostages. Kurt's job was to provide backup for them both, until the hostages were located, then he was to teleport them out while Kitty switched to backup for Cyclops. The mission had been going well enough, until the war zone they had been fighting in had exploded. In all the noise and haze, Kurt had lost sight of Kitty. He found her within seconds, but not in time to rescue her from a wooden spear that came flying out of nowhere. On feeling the barb pierce her shoulder, Kitty had instantly begun to phase, but not before the spear had sliced through uniform and skin, drawing enough blood that Logan had immediately stopped the simulation and rushed her to the infirmary. Though the others had followed the pair, Kurt had ported away, horrified at what he had done.

"Kurt, this wasn't anyone's fault," Jean said, breaking him away from his thoughts. "It was an accident. They happen. Nobody blames you for what happened, least of all Kitty. In fact," she continued, smoothing the sand from the shore out of his fur as she spoke, "she was wondering where a certain fuzzy blue elf was last night right before the sleeping pills Dr. McCoy gave her kicked in." Jean bit her lip before pressing on with her argument. She had expected some kind of reaction from Kurt to the pet name Kitty had playfully given him, but he stoically continued to avoid her gaze, his projected emotions as heavy as before. Stubbornly, Jean changed tactics.

"Kurt, imagine the situation were reversed. If Kitty was watching your back, and something slipped by her and got to you, you wouldn't be angry, would you?" Kurt slowly shook his head. "Kitty's going to be ok; just a couple of stitches and some bed rest and she'll be as good as new. She's not upset with you, just like you wouldn't be upset with her. It's no different."

"Ja, but it _is_ different, because--"

Kurt cut himself off as sharply as he had begun. He loved Jean fiercely; he looked to her as an older sister and true friend, and he trusted her more than he trusted almost everyone else he knew. But he couldn't find the words to tell her his biggest secret, the one he had trouble admitting to even himself. She saved him the trouble.

"It's different because you love her," she said gently.

Kurt looked up sharply, meeting Jean's eyes for the first time since she had joined him by the lake shore, suspiciously searching for any sign that she had intruded into his mind. Finding nothing but compassion and sincerity, however, Kurt sighed with guilt and let his guard drop. Of course she hadn't, this was Jean, she would never enter uninvited into someone's thoughts. And he was terrible for even suspecting that she would.

"It's confusing," he admitted, absentmindedly tracing a circle in the dirt beneath him. "I zhink I know how I feel about her, but zen, I don't know if it is vhat I zhink it is, and zen I see her and I zhink maybe I vas wrong vhen I say I don't know, and…" He trailed off, exasperated. Jean tried not to laugh as she took his hand. "Kurt," she said kindly, "It's ok. You don't have to know exactly how you feel. Everyone gets confused about stuff like this. It's not just you." Kurt looked up, almost shyly. "Even you?" He asked, a hint of incredulity in his voice. "Even me," she assured him. "And don't worry, I wont say a word. Even though I think the two of you would be ridiculously cute together." A hint of a smile played at the corner of his lips, and Jean was relieved to sense that his bad feelings were quickly ebbing away. "Hey, it's almost time for breakfast," she pointed out, knowing instinctively that the mention of food would instantly make Kurt forget his troubles. "What do you say we head back to the mansion?" Kurt squeezed her fingers in thanks before grinning evilly. "Ze last one back, as you say, is a rotten egg," He laughed, and quickly scampered off, clearly back to his old self again.

Smiling as she watched Kurt happily leap from tree to tree, Jean reached past him with her telepathy to cast a mental net over the mansion. She felt the serene presence of Ororo in the kitchen, momentarily distracted from her task of mixing pancake batter by the gentle breeze blowing through the window, gently tousling the leaves of the plants sitting on the sill above the sink. Logan had gone down to the infirmary to check on Kitty, who Jean was pleased to discover was feeling vibrant as ever, her charismatic psyche clearly distinguishing herself from those of Logan and Dr McCoy on either side of her. All around the house, minds were slowly becoming louder as they reached a state of consciousness, mental flowers opening in the morning sun. Jean smiled. Being a telepath was best done from this distance: close enough to sense the minds of others, but far enough away that she wasn't caught up in the violent torrent of thoughts and emotions.

Suddenly Jean paused, feeling a buzzing in the back of her mind. She shook her head, letting the mental net disintegrate in favor of trying to decipher the whispers. Though they grew louder, they were no more discernible than when they had begun. Jean grew afraid, remembering the incident a few months back when her powers had begun to evolve, shattering her near perfect control of the forces inside of her. She had been working with Professor Xavier every day, trying to keep in command of her abilities so that the devastating damage she had caused, both physically and mentally, would never be repeated. Was this the first sign that her control was weakening, and that her powers were slipping from her grasp?

Jean closed her eyes, breathing deeply. Clenching her fists, she concentrated on closing her mind. "Stop. Stop it," she whispered through gritted teeth. Slowly, the voices subsided, leaving Jean alone. Cautiously, she relaxed her mental barriers to their previous state. Still nothing. Jean breathed a sigh of relief. The wind blowing off of the lake, though a mere 'gentle breeze' by the time it reached Ororo, whipped the young telepath's hair around as she slowly began the walk back to the mansion.


	2. Breakfast as Usual?

Chapter 2, finally up and loaded :) Thank you for my very first reviews, they were much appreciated. I suppose this could be considered AU; in my mind's eye, this story takes place in season 2, before the whole Kurt/Amanda thing. I'm trying to keep things mostly in character, so feel free to let me know when I screw up ;)

If I owned the X-men, I wouldn't be working two jobs to put myself through school.

Chapter Two: Breakfast as Usual?

Gratefully taking a stack of pancakes from Ororo Munroe, Rogue made her way through the chattering crowd of mutants still referred to as the 'new recruits', despite the fact that the majority of them had been living at the mansion for a few months. Stumbling a bit with exhaustion, Rogue took her seat in the dining room with a yawn before snatching the bottle of syrup off of the table in front of her. Much as her roommate annoyed her at times, she wasn't used to sleeping alone anymore, and the unnatural silence had made it difficult to sleep the previous evening. _Won't be havin' such trouble tonight, it looks lahke_, she thought, as Kitty danced into the dining room with her plate, clearly having recovered from her scare in the danger room. Pushing her syrupy pancake mess around her plate, Rogue allowed her thoughts to drift, only collecting herself a moment later when she realized, with a bit of a jolt, that she had been openly staring at Scott, who was seated directly across the table from her. Luckily for her, the insanity of a meal at the mansion meant that nobody was paying her enough attention to notice her gaze. And Scott himself was busy watching Kitty, _No doubt making sure that gettin' bumped on her behind don't mess up any training simulations today_, she mused. Rogue sighed. She was not a morning person, that was certain, but she was not normally this bitter, no matter what the other students might think. Really, she was annoyed with herself for not keeping a better guard up, sleep or no sleep. It's not as though she really still liked Scott anyhow. Well, not the way she had. So there might be some residual affection still lingering. Old habits die hard, after all. That could hardly be helped.

The object of Rogue's denial watched with amusement as Kitty Pryde ate her breakfast. Or rather, as she ignored the pancakes she had practically drowned in syrup in favor of her preferred beverage. Chocolate milk mixed with melted peanut butter. Through a straw. Scott had figured the absurd combination was merely a phase, like the two months when Jean had insisted on drinking everything out of a wine glass—coffee, juice, whatever—for whatever bizarre reason that passed for logic in the brain of a fourteen year old girl. But half a year later, Kitty was still slurping down her odd concoction, through the ever present twisty straw, with almost indecent enthusiasm. He watched her grimace as Hank McCoy placed a plateful of bacon near her—Kitty was a straight up vegetarian, and not shy about preaching her gospel. He shuddered, recalling the hour-long lecture they were all forced to endure the previous weekend when Evan had pointed out that her beloved milk had originally come from an animal. Nobody in the mansion would ever again be in any doubt about the difference between vegetarianism and veganism—"which is a little extreme, but is like, so totally better than being a carnivorous baby animal killer!"

Satisfied that Kitty was back to normal, Scott's turned his scrutiny to his bagel. Though he told himself that he didn't care what Logan would think about his breakfast choice, he still glanced furtively around the room to ensure that his teacher had not yet arrived before quickly smoothing the strawberry cream cheese over his cinnamon raisin bagel. _Breakfast is not gender specific,_ Scott assured himself, _and besides, Jean almost took off Logan's head the last time he called this a 'chick bagel'._ Feeling more secure in his manhood, Scott took a healthy bite of his bagel, only to choke on it when a large, fuzzy blue figure appeared in his lap.

"Kurt," Scott sputtered out through his coughing, "Watch where you're porting!" Kurt thumped him on the back a few times. "I am sorry, miss," he replied, a devilish twinkle present in his yellow eye as he scrambled out of Scott's lap and into his own chair. "Miss? What do you mean, miss?" Scott demanded, taking a sip of water to soothe his throat. "Vell," Kurt shrugged, "If ze pink shirt fits…"

Scott glanced down in dismay. It was true, his formerly tan shirt was now streaked with pink cream cheese. "Ah, Kurt," Scott sighed with irritation. He dabbed a napkin into his water and began blotting at the stain as he stood up and headed towards the door, only to run into the very last person he wanted to run into while annoyed, damp, and liberally marked with pink: Jean Grey.

If Scott didn't believe in love at first sight, it was because he had fallen for Jean long before his ruby quartz lenses had allowed him to lay eyes on her. The first two students at Xavier's school for gifted youngsters, they had quickly bonded over cookies snuck in the wee hours of the morning, hours of physical training with Logan, and a shared fondness for Saturday morning cartoons. He had taught her how to read braille and pitch a tent; she'd taught him how to dance to music of any tempo and how make brownies that didn't crumble when you cut them. But more than that, they had grown up together, connecting not only by choice, but by the necessity that came with being the only children either of them had known capable of understanding one another. For no other children could be trusted with the knowledge that they were mutants, and as much as they loved the professor, and Ororo and Hank, and even Logan on his fiercest days, they were adults, consequently removed from the knowledge of what its like to be so young. Even after other students began slowly moving into the mansion, Scott and Jean maintained a special friendship, untouched by the depths of others, forged from spending years with the hyper-awareness of each other that comes from having a single true friend.

Both students jumped backwards, narrowly avoiding a collision on Jean's side of the doorframe. "Sorry Jean, my fault," Scott apologized, his cheeks flushing slightly with embarrassment. Jean shook her head. "Nah, I wasn't paying attention," she told him with a grin. "Oh, what happened to you?" she asked, lightly running a finger over the stain on Scott's shirt. "Let me guess: Everyone's favorite teleporter missed his chair again." Scott laughed, desperately willing himself not to tremble under her touch. _How terribly cliché_, he thought, not without amusement. "Something like that," he admitted. "Any hints on how to remove cream cheese smears from cotton?" Jean raised an eyebrow and ran a hand through her hair in thought. "Hot water and detergent should take care of it," she diagnosed. "Try pre-treating it a bit in the sink. But dab at it, don't rub it, or you'll drive the stain in further and it'll never come out," she warned. "Great, thanks," Scott smiled.

Jean watched him go, stripping his shirt off as he climbed the stairs, mumbling her instructions over and over again under his breath like a holy mantra. _Boys are hopeless_, she thought with a smirk as she entered the dining room. Filling a glass with orange juice, she slid easily into Scott's vacated chair, internally debating whether stealing his bagel would piss him off unreasonably. _Danger Room session at 12:30_, she remembered. _Better not risk it_. Sighing, she reached for the toast and jam.

Her hand stopped in midair, however, as the buzzing sound of whispers filled the back of her head once more. Screwing her eyes shut in concentration, she once again mentally willed the voices to cease. The whispering grew softer, but continued relentlessly. _No. I don't know what you are, but get out of my head!_ she demanded, concentrating harder.

"Hey, what gives?" a female voice drawled. "Jean, are you all right?" A hand on Jean's shoulder startled her. As her concentration broke and her eyes flew open, all of the plates, glasses and silverware landed back on the table. Nothing broke, they had only been levitating a few inches, but orange juice flowed out of Jean's overturned glass, slowly spreading around the various plates closest to it. "Oh!" Jean gasped, as surprised as the rest of the students at the turn of events. "I'm sorry, I- I didn't realize…" She trailed off, unsure of what to say. The hand on her shoulder squeezed slightly, both comforting her and restraining her as she tried to stand. "Easy, Jean," Hank told her gently. "I've got this one."

Rogue watched silently as Dr McCoy quickly cleaned the spill off of the table, his napkin weaving deftly among the dishes in his surprisingly graceful hands. The rest of the students went back to talking and eating as quickly as they had started, but Rogue had lost her appetite. Jean rarely lost control of her powers; she was too busy being freakin' perfect for that. But the one time that she had been completely overwhelmed, the damage had been—considerable. And the two days leading up to the catastrophe had been marked with little incidents such as this—a loss of concentration here, a telekinetic spasm there. Rogue didn't like to think that Jean's powers could explode like that again, but the possibility was there. And if the amount of mental force she wielded had been expanding as rapidly as the professor seemed to believe, she wasn't sure that they could survive another loss of control.

Rogue did not have time to dwell on this disturbing thought, as her musings were interrupted by a familiar, warming presence whose mental signature she'd recognize anywhere. '_Good morning students,'_ Professor Xavier addressed the room telepathically. _'There will be a brief meeting in the living room this evening after supper. Please arrange your schedules accordingly. Thank you.'_ Eyebrows were raised as the students looked at each other. They had lived at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters long enough to know that meetings usually meant something serious, something dangerous, or both.


	3. An Evening Meeting

Hello again! This was actually ready to go a couple days ago, but I had some trouble uploading it :( But on the bright side, it's here! And thank you so much to my faithful reviewers,your comments aremuch appreciated. Kindly R&R, it makes my day to know that people actually care about what happens or if i screw up. J

And as always, I don't own a thing. Please don't sue, as I make very little money teaching children to swim.

Chapter 3: An Evening Meeting

Charles Xavier watched quietly as his students filed into the living room, chattering in twos and threes. _There are so many of them_, he thought idly. _And yet, so few, in the larger scheme of things._ It was true. Every day, it seemed, Cerebro would pick up another hit indicating that somewhere, some young person's mutant powers had catalyzed into being. Charles desperately wanted to help them all, as he was trying to help the children entrusted to his care. But his 'children' had already grown in number over the last year, so much that there were few rooms in the mansion left that could house them all comfortably. Fortunately the living room—with its comfortable couches and chairs and beautifully carved ornate fireplace—was one of them, making it an ideal spot for a school-wide meeting.

Ororo finished her silent headcount and nodded at the Professor, indicating that all of the students were present—an unnecessary gesture, given Xavier's substantial telepathic talents, but a familiar one that also served to put her own mind at ease. She knew the purpose of the meeting, as did the rest of the faculty, and though she didn't believe her students were in any real danger, she couldn't help but dwell sadly on the conversation that she and the Professor had had early that morning.

"Ororo, I'm not trying to frighten the students," Xavier had explained patiently. "I merely want to put them on their guard. We don't know the extent to which Magneto is involved in this, if he is at all. I am trying to protect them the best way that I can." Ororo had been sitting in front of his desk, eyeing him intently as he gazed out the window. She knew he was probably right, that telling the students what they already should know was the safest course of action. But they were children still. They shouldn't be forced to grow up as quickly as various events were forcing them to. "I don't know, Charles, I'm still not entirely convinced. I know that going into Kelly's mind is unethical, to say the least, but would it not better serve the greater good if you could make sure that he does not know enough to try and persecute our children?" Ororo had implored him. Xavier looked over at her wistfully. "I wish it were that simple," he confessed, "but that could very well make this delicate situation worse. If Magneto is involved, which I strongly believe he is, he will most assuredly replace any information about the students here that I manage to erase from Kelly's mind. And for the worse—Kelly will only know what Magneto tells him, which will no doubt include my involvement in his memory loss. In addition, Magneto will know that I have interfered in whatever it is he is working toward, and may target the institute as a result. If Magneto was not involved, or Kelly does not have any knowledge about our particular specialty, then there is nothing I can do to better the situation. I cannot reverse the events of last evening, or change the soul of a man. You know what Kelly is, Ororo, as much as I do.

"In any case," Xavier continued, shifting slightly in his chair, "the students need to be warned. We've already failed them as far as their first principal goes," he added, with a hint of irony in his voice. "They deserve better this time around."

Reflecting back on the conversation, Ororo knew that the Professor was indeed correct. She could recognize that what angered her most about the situation was the fear she knew the meeting would inspire in some of the students. Fear of accidentally exposing themselves, fear of the dark world that they were living in, fear of themselves and of their own abilities. _Nobody should have to be afraid to be themselves_, she thought tiredly. _None of these children should have to go through life thinking that we expect perfection from them. But that's what this is going to sound like._

"Good evening, students. Thank you for arriving so promptly," Xavier began, smiling warmly around the room. "I will do my best to keep this meeting short, as I know a few of you still have several hours of homework to complete." Several students giggled as Xavier's eyes lingered on Bobby, who raised his eyebrows and placed a hand over his heart in a mocking gesture of wounded innocence. The professor allowed himself an indulgent smile before continuing:

"Very late last night, Cerebro detected several mutant signatures around the residence of your principal, Mr. Kelly. News reports this morning indicate that a shocking display of vandalism took place, and although the news reporter covering the story was kind enough to mention repeatedly that there was no evidence that mutants were responsible for the damage, it is certainly suspected. And unfortunately true," he added.

Sensing what was causing the hint of fear in the serious expressions that surrounded him, Xavier rushed to clarify. "I do not believe, for one moment, that anyone in this room was responsible in any way. However, Principal Kelly, as you may remember from the enlightening soccer championship match earlier this year, does not think kindly of mutants, and this will do nothing to change his opinion. And at this time, we are unaware of how much Kelly knows about our identities as mutants."

Xavier paused, giving Rogue a chance to raise an eyebrow at Kitty, who swallowed and nodded back. Tomorrow they would find out if their suspicions about who was behind the attack were true. Kitty flicked her eyes quickly at Jean, who was curled up in an armchair in front of their couch, and looked back at Rogue inquiringly. Rogue hesitated, but shrugged her shoulders in acquiescence. She wasn't sure that they could convince Jean to go along with their plan, but if she agreed and they had a telepath on their side, so much the better. She quickly looked back at Xavier with rapt attention as he began to speak again.

"Whether or not Kelly's anti-mutant sentiments will cause any rash action on the part of the school board remains to be seen. However, with that said, signs of mutant activity on school grounds will certainly be watched for most carefully, and if Kelly does suspect that you are more than you appear, than I have very little doubt that the activities and behaviour of each and every one of you will be monitored closely.

"All I am requesting of you is something that you should already be doing: keeping your powers under control while in public, and especially when on school property. It is especially important now, and while you have all been very compliant with this for the most part, our room for error has been lessened immensely. You all know procedure for containment should anyone have an accident. However, I would greatly prefer that we never have to use it." The containment procedure that the professor had devised was brilliant in its simplicity: any student who had been seen exhibiting their power would project the problem telepathically to Jean, who would contact whomever was closest and immediately begin altering perceptions of the incident. The contacted student would excuse him or herself from class long enough to phone the institute. That call was merely a backup; both times in which the procedure had been activated, Xavier had been alerted by Cerebro to the problem and had been assisting Jean telepathically by the time the phone had rung.

Logan wasn't listening as the professor made some closing remarks. Instead, he was wondering why the key detail, concerning a mutant presence inside the house during the strike, had been left out. _Lotta holes in that story, Chuck. Kids are gonna want to know why you cant just make the Kelly situation go away. And some of 'em are too smart, not to mention too nosy, for their own good._ He had not missed the exchange between Rogue and Kitty.

Xavier was pleased with how the meeting had gone, and was certain that his students would be careful. He had done what he though was best for them all, and was proud that they had seemed to grasp the importance of his words. He frowned slightly as he began to wheel himself toward the open doorframe. Now if only that pounding headache would go away.


	4. Enter the Emulous

I know, I know, such a long wait for such a little chapter! I wish i had a better excuse than 'I can't write bad guys', but i do not. But fear not, gentle and loyal readers (and reviewers! love you the best) for i have nearly completed the next chapter, and it is full of things that go bump and snikt in the night ;) So please review! I gave up caffiene, I have to get my happiness from somewhere!

I own the X-men! But only in DVD form. And really, they're my sisters. I bought them for her birthday, and she loved them. SoI guess I don't own them after all.

Chapter 4

Enter the Emulous

The night was dark, the lights from the city hazy in the distance. A tall man with a cape thrown carelessly across one shoulder stared broodingly at the horizon, watching the planes flying to and from LaGuardia. There was an air of sadness about the man, a slight vulnerability to his features as he stood alone in the darkness. Though it was spring, the chilly air still bit into him, making him shiver slightly.

"M-master?" A tentative voice stammered. The man turned his head almost imperceptibly, just enough to acknowledge the second man's presence. This one was…oh, who was he kidding. He didn't know the man's name. Every plan he had ever enacted to benefit mutantkind called for minions, mutants with just enough power to be considered homo superior. Inevitably, they were injured or driven off by the X-men, never to be heard from again, at least not by him. The man smiled ruefully. His feeling that it was easier to not learn his lackeys' names than it was to forget them once they were gone was either a sign of age or of learned cynicism, but he couldn't tell which. Perhaps one was the same as the other, really.

The man was stirred out of his solemn reverie by the realization that his nervous compatriot was still talking. "It's, it's ready, s-sir. Forge th-thinks that, that he worked out the bugs." Any trace of vulnerability that may have graced the man's form before was gone, vanished as if it had never been present, by the time he turned around to face the stuttering speaker, his gaze cold and hard as ice.

"Has he begun?" he asked. The second man swallowed uneasily, as if he were afraid to answer incorrectly. "N-n-no sir, he's w-waiting for you to begin. We put F-f-forge b-back in stasis, like you s-said, sir." The man nodded regally, much to the relief of the speaker.

Twenty minutes later, the man with the cape watched stoically as a short, cloaked man connected wires to his freshly shaved skull. "Forge insists that his modifications will improve the results significantly," he said, securing the final electrode to his temple. He paused, bracing his hands on the table holding the intricate machinery in front of him, steeling himself as though for an earthquake. "Sir," he asked, "Are you sure this is the best way to accomplish your agenda? This won't change any minds, you know." The first man bristled, annoyed at being challenged. "On the contrary, Mastermind. It will change many minds. The only human minds that still matter. You know as well as I do that there are only two mutants capable of such a grand telepathic feat, and both of them live at Xavier's school. I have already put steps in place to weaken the X-men irreparably, a tragic sacrifice, but one that is necessary for my plans to succeed." Mastermind, though seeing the logic in the man's speech, tried again. "But wouldn't it be far easier to abduct the girl? I could complete the task more efficiently, and—"

He was cut off by an icy stare from the first man, eyes growing wide as a large number of iron tools began lengthening and wrapping themselves around him like serpents. "That girl, as you refer to her," the man said, his frosty tone not masking his barely suppressed anger, "is far more powerful than you can ever hope to comprehend. You use machinery, built by another, to amplify your power so that you can reach the building where she lives. She could destroy you with a thought. And if she doesn't frighten you," he stormed at the trembling mutant in front of him, who was fearfully eying the prongs of a crowbar, "consider Xavier. Charles, I believe I am correct in saying, would be—most displeased—if any harm were to come to his favourite pupil." He regarded Mastermind with contempt, then released the tools holding him captive. "Do not question me again," he said, his voice dripping with disgust. "And do not fail me."

Mastermind stood, rooted to the spot as the man swept the cape over his shoulder and strode from the room, his anger evident in each percussive step. Slowly, he turned back to the machine and began adjusting dials, feeling a humming in his mind as the equipment powered up. "Forge was right," he muttered to himself. He cast one final thought toward the man in the cape before turning himself over completely to the device. "I won't fail," he whispered. "I will not fail, Magneto."

Honestly, I cannot remember much about XM:E Mastermind, so I've transplanted him from the comic world. And I think I'm going to stick with Magneto's first name as Erik. Cause 'Magnus' is just a silly name for a villain. See you soon with another (cooler) installment!


	5. Things that go Snikt! in the night

Oh, people actually like this story! I got some lovely reviews, and I was so happy that I typed up this chapter extra quickly :) I'd have had it up yesterday, but it was my 19th birthday, so i went out with some friends instead (can't hold it against me, i work 30 hour weeks; i need fun and sunshine!). So it's chapter 5 for your reading pleasure: please enjoy, and please review! Think of it as a belated birthday gift!

Chapter Five: Things that go "Snikt!" in the night

_Send her away. Send her away to save the others. Only she can do it; only she can help you save the children. Send her. _

"Ow! What the-" Scott mumbled incoherently, rubbing his forehead where he had cracked it painfully on his bedside table. Momentarily he wondered what on earth had jarred from his sleep, besides a possible brain injury, but quickly forgot the pain as he remembered the terrified shriek. Clumsily untangling himself from the sheets, he quickly scrambled out of bed and ran out into the hall—and missed impaling himself on Logan's outstretched claws by inches. "Logan!" he gasped, weakly clutching the doorframe, "Don't do that!" Logan ignored him, sniffing the air. "Somethin' ain't right, Cyke," he growled, taking measure of the hall around him with his enhanced senses. "That crash came from up here."

Scott nodded breathlessly. "One of the girl's rooms. I heard a scream," he told the older man, who turned back to face him so quickly that Scott had to leap backwards to avoid being hit by the unsheathed blades. "What scream?" Logan asked, seemingly unaware that he had nearly gutted Scott twice in ten seconds. Scott frowned. He knew he had heard a scream, a girl's scream. But that was impossible, there was no way that he would have heard it if Logan had not. Unless, of course, he hadn't _heard_ it at all….Scott instantly understood what had happened and looked back at Logan, the blood draining from his face. "Jean," he whispered. The two men tore down the hall and ripped open Jean's door. Hitting the light switch, Scott froze, taking in the sight with horror.

Everything in the room was in shambles, ripped apart by an unseen hand. The large dresser that took up a big portion of the far wall had been overturned, the obvious source of the crash that Logan had heard. Clothes and books were strewn in far too many pieces, shelves broken, the mirror shattered. And sitting with her knees tucked into her chest, long red hair cascading wildly over her shoulders, was Jean, who was staring transfixed at her outstretched hands. Hands that were covered in—

"Blood?" Scott's voice caught in his throat as he and Logan rushed to her side. Jean didn't flinch as Logan took her hands in his; her eyes, Logan was unnerved to discover as he looked up from examining her gashed palms, were strangely blank and unseeing. "Jeannie," Logan murmured softly, trying to find a glimpse of something—anything—resembling Jean in those empty sockets, "Red, talk to me. You're safe, Jeannie, it's just me and Slim. What happened?" He took her face in his hands, forcing her to look at him, and watched as ever so slowly, like a diver swimming up from the bottom of the ocean, Jean slowly came to the surface and emerged. "Logan?" She whispered hoarsely. "Scott."

Scott knelt on the carpet beside her bed and gently stroked her hair, concentrating hard on suppressing the fear and panic coursing through him so as not to inadvertently broadcast it to her. "We're here, Jean," he assured her, taking trouble to keep his voice as soothing as possible. He watched her eyes widen as she looked around the ruins of her bedroom, felt the shock she felt inside his head.

"Jeannie, your hands are full of glass. We have to get you downstairs," Logan told the girl gently. She looked at her hands, noticing for the first time that they were dripping with crimson. _What? But_—she glanced down at her comforter, where there were two bloody smears in addition to the dozens of shimmering shards of glass. Jean's gaze turned to the window, or rather, the twisted screen and splintered ledge where her window had previously been. Unable to look at the remains of the room, or at the two men inside it, she looked down at her lap. The two smears were distinctly shaped, shaped like—Jean paled. Like whomever had made them had been holding a glass covered blanket in a death grip. She closed her eyes and swallowed hard, fighting the urge to vomit.

Logan felt Jean's skin cool rapidly under his hands. "Slim!" he barked, "Get Hank and meet us in the med lab. Go!" he growled when Scott hesitated, clearly not wanting to leave Jean's side. "C'mon Jeannie," he whispered, "Let's get you outta here." Carefully, he gathered her in his arms, being especially cautious of her still bleeding hands. Resisting the urge to run as fast as his legs could carry him to the infirmary, he went slowly, trying not to jar her. "What happened in there, Red?" he asked her, noticing with alarm that she seemed to be fading on him. "Dunno," she answered. "My head hurts," she added quietly, eyes closing.

Logan cradled her closer to his chest and quickened his pace. It had been years since he had carried Jean anywhere; once she had hit puberty it had seemed, inappropriate somehow. But a large part of him still thought of her as the little girl who had arrived at the mansion a shy, frail ghost of a child; the little girl with milk-pale skin and torrents of red hair that had grown unchecked during her hospital stay. And he'd be damned if he let anything happen to her on his watch.

Reaching the infirmary, Logan placed her tenderly on the closest bed and gave her over to a worried Hank and a somewhat-less-composed-than-usual Cyclops. Standing in the shadows of the room, his eyes saw but didn't comprehend as Hank began running tests and hooking Jean up to various machines. He didn't hear the running commentary the doctor provided, though it was intended for his and Scott's benefit. His mind was back upstairs, back when he had held Jean's face in his hands, waiting for her mind to recover. In those seemingly eternal seconds, he had sensed something was terribly wrong, and he had just realized what it was: there was a scent in the room, the scent of a man, that didn't belong there. It had been ever so faint and had faded quickly, probably because of the breeze from the window, he reasoned. But it was a scent that was unwelcome. He didn't know who had been in that room, or when, or why. But Chuck was going to hear about it first thing in the morning.


	6. Conversations and Complications

Hello agin lovely readers! I am leaving town for a few days for a family thang, so i worked extra hard to type this up quickly just for you. Special thanks to a certain Strawberry for checking my account to see if it now accepts anonymous reviews (which it does, btw). So relax, enjoy, and kindly review! I love reviews, i crave them like i crave falafels and chocolate! But obviously not together. Because that's just weird.

Chapter 6

Conversations and Complications

For the second time in twenty four hours, Ororo Munroe stared at her mentor with an expression of worried disbelief. "You're certain it's him, Charles," she intoned, more a statement than an actual question. Xavier nodded gravely across his great mahogany desk at her, the sadness playing around his eyes. For all her majestic presence and breathtaking beauty, Ororo was really not a physically imposing woman. Even with her hands folded in her lap and her back rail straight, she was dwarfed on all sides by the leather armchair she sat in. Charles focused on her eyes as he spoke. He would not, could not focus on the frailties of the woman in front of him. Not when he needed her strength.

"Erik Lensherr was the first mutant I ever encountered, so many years ago. I know his mental signature better than my own. He is most decidedly using his powers in New York City, and if his mental shielding slipped for even the twenty seconds it took for Cerebro to get a lock on him, then whatever he is doing is likely as monumental as we feared." His gaze faltered, and Ororo used the opportunity to voice the concern that had been plaguing her. "Charles," she began hesitantly, "Do you believe it's possible…what I mean to say is, this is Magneto. His safeguards on his privacy are not those of a sane man, and his attention to detail is obsessively clinical, to say the least. Do you think, perhaps, that if Cerebro was able to detect Magneto, it is because he wants us to find him?" The professor met her eyes once again. "I have taken that possibility into consideration, Ororo. And regrettably, it is in all likelihood an accurate assessment. However, we cannot take that chance. We must do something with this information." Ororo nodded, silently steeling herself for what she was about to say. "If you're thinking of sending Logan to find him, Charles, I am imploring you to reconsider. Even in a city the size of New York, Magneto will be able to sense Logan's adamantium skeleton a mile away. You have an approximate location of where he was using his powers not an hour ago. Let me take the jet to New York."

Though both Charles and Ororo knew that the telepath could sense the unease afflicting her psyche, it was to the woman's credit that her voice and gaze were clear and steady, her body language not betraying an ounce of trepidation. A small smile spread slowly on Xavier's face, the pride emanating from his eyes as he appreciated, not for the first time, what a remarkable being Ororo Munroe really was: every inch the goddess she was thought to be an ocean away. "I would not have anyone else," he told her truthfully, and she stood, preparing to leave. "But Storm," he cautioned, his tone carefully controlled, "Do be careful. I fear that whatever Erik is up to, it is greater than anything he has attempted in the past. We may be facing our most monumental challenge to date."

Kneeling in front of him, Ororo took his hand, intending to reassure him. Looking into his eyes, however, she hesitated. There was something almost—guarded, about the way he looked at her, an expression she had never before seen him wear. Ororo blinked, and immediately felt ashamed of her foolish imagination. Charles's dark eyes were the kind, benevolent ones that she had known for years, full of the same light and warmth that was always present. She therefore offered even more comfort in her smile than she had planned.

Two floors below Xavier's office, Dr McCoy was busy cleaning the infirmary, putting away extra bandages and gauze as he hummed along with the Mozart piece playing on his radio. Hearing a distinct beeping sound coming from the far corner, he strode over to his blessed, top of the line coffeemaker and gratefully poured himself a generous amount. It had been a long morning, being shaken awake before 5a.m. by Scott, but coffee made all things better. Inhaling deeply, he smiled and addressed the man in the doorway without turning around. "May I offer you a cup, Logan?" he asked, gesturing to his mug. "Vanilla Hazelnut, the proverbial nectar of the Columbian gods."

Shuddering slightly, Logan declined the offer. He took his coffee black; anything else was a little too fruity for his taste, and Hank knew it. "How's Jeannie?" he asked, folding his arms and leaning back against the doorframe. Hank took another sip of his coffee before returning to his task of cleaning. "She's fine," he told Logan, " a few abrasions here and there. Miraculously, her hands will not require any stitches, although her dexterity will be limited for as long as they're bandaged, which should be at least the next couple of days." He paused, looking curiously at Logan.

"Was Jean unconscious when you reached her?" he asked. Logan shook his head. "Not really," he answered, "we think she must have had a telekinetic fit in her sleep. When Slim and I got there, she was sitting up, but…" he frowned, not sure how to continue. Hank looked at him kindly. "But, she may have been acting…somewhat differently?" Logan looked up at him sharply. "Exactly. She wasn't there," he explained, "not at first. It was like she wasn't seeing me, or like she didn't know me." Hank nodded, walking over to one of his machines. "I wondered if that might be the case," he admitted. "There is something here I think that you should see."

Logan strode over to the machine as Hank fiddled with the dials, changing the size and shapes of the thin green lines that cut jaggedly across the screen. "Due to the cerebral nature of Jean's mutation, and the amount of psychic power she has always possessed, I have always included MRIs, PETs, fMRIs, and any other brain scan I have the equipment for in her routine physicals," Hank explained, and handed Logan a folder thick with papers. "These were my most recent readings, taken three months ago." Logan flipped through the readouts, nonplussed. "Continue as if I understand," he growled at Hank, who wisely ignored his tone and did indeed continue.

"One of the first things I did this morning when you brought Jean to me was to take another reading," Hank said, turning the machine slightly to give Logan a better view of the screen. Logan compared the picture to the one on his papers. The spikes were far more jagged, much higher up than what was printed on any of them. "As you can see, the neurotransmitter levels present in her limbocortical system were sharply increased, and the reuptake nearly halted." Logan saw no such thing, but nodded as Hank adjusted the dial once again. "But look t this scan, a mere ten minutes later," Hank said, tracing the lines on the monitor. "Inexplicably, all of her dopamine, epinephrine, norepinephrine, acetylcholine, GABA—"

"Hank," Logan snarled, cutting him off. Hank gave him an embarrassed smile. "Sorry. To put it concisely, her brain was back to normal within ten minutes, and I don't know how, or why. But I do know that her frontal lobes were functioning at higher levels than are normal for Jean. That's why I suspected a slight personality change. Normally that would indicate brain damage, but physical injuries notwithstanding, Jean has a double cortical mutant manifestation. Her brain is not entirely normal to begin with." Logan stared broodingly at the screen, confused. "Are you saying Jeannie is brain damaged?" he asked. Hank shook his head vehemently. "Not at all," he reassured Logan. "All I am saying is that something caused Jean's brain chemicals to spike, and when that something was no longer a factor in her system, her brain chemicals returned to normal very rapidly. And because her blood tests came back completely clean," he added, running a hand through his mane in frustration, "I am forced to conclude, with far less evidence than I would like to have, that the entire process was completely cerebral and quite likely linked to her mutant abilities."


	7. Morning at the Mansion

Don't worry, dear readers, I haven't forgotten you! I've been getting all of my things ready to move and nursing a pet project, so i've been rather busy. This chapter is short and I apologize for it. In truth it was supposed to be much longer, but since I've changed the ending of the next chapter, I decided it really needed to be split in half, and this was the most logical place to cut it.

Thank you for the compliments on the 'Hank speak' ;) I confess: I used my neuropsych/psychopharmacology classes at school to come up with all of the jargon in the previous chapter, and except for the more obvious source of the problem, it is all scientifically accurate. So !review! because I care enough about you to give you the medical terminology that you deserve :)

Chapter 7

Morning at the Mansion

"Rogue! Come on, like, hurry up already!" Kitty sighed with exasperation as she waited for her roommate to vacate the bathroom. _Can't she just put on her makeup in our room, like normal people do?_ she thought, not without annoyance._ Does she _have_ to use the bathroom?_

Yawning, Scott closed the door to his room and started down the hall. "Bus leaves in five, people," he called out, "Anyone not in the garage is walking." Satisfied by the various murmured acknowledgements from the tired students milling the halls, Scott passed by the bathroom where Kitty was posted, arm phased through the door up to her elbow. "Just give me my toothbrush," she was pleading. "It's the blue one on the left. Don't make me come in there, Rogue!" Leaving her to her battle, Scott continued down the hall, wincing slightly at the sight of Evan racing down the hall on his skateboard, completely oblivious as always to the fact that the floor was carpeted.

Making a mental note to talk to Evan when he wasn't so tired, Scott reached Jean's open doorway. "Morning Scott," she called from the closet, before he could knock, drawing a grin from him despite his exhaustion. "Hey, Jean. You coming to school today?" he asked, as a pair of shoes floated out of the closet and landed gracefully by the bed. "Dr McCoy didn't want me to until I talked to the Professor," she told him, as he surveyed the room. He and Logan had cleaned up the glass and righted the fallen dresser, but the room still bore a slight resemblance to a war zone. "Did you talk to him, then?" he asked, and felt her concerned frown in his mind as easily as if he had seen it. "No," she answered, stepping out of her closet while tying a long, black scarf around her neck, effectively hiding an angry red scratch. "It's the weirdest thing. Normally I can talk to him telepathically as easily as I talk to you, but he feels asleep in my mind. Which he can't be, because Professor Xavier never—what?" she asked abruptly, around the same second that Scott realized he was blatantly staring at her. "Nothing," he covered, "I like the outfit." Jean had forgone the usual stomach baring shirt in favor of a sundress to go with her black scarf and gloves, and although it had been chosen to hide the scrapes and bruises from the previous evening, the combination worked for her. "Thanks," she said, flexing her fingers in front of her to test their stiffness. "My hands are all bandaged from the glass, so Rogue lent me an extra pair of gloves."

"Jus' don't make it too populah," Rogue said darkly, leaning in the doorway behind Scott. "I lahke you an' all Jean, but I'd hafta kill ya. Whoa," she exclaimed, looking around Jean's room for the first time. "You said you broke the window, but ya didn't mention the part about breakin' the room. We leavin'?" she asked, heading toward the stairs without waiting for an answer. Scott looked knowingly at Jean, who shrugged her shoulders guiltily. "I didn't think it was worth mentioning to the team," she lied. Scott wrapped an arm around her shoulders as they left the room. "Don't worry," he told her. "I won't tell."

Xavier watched from his window, not without amusement, as the younger students were herded into the X-van by their unwilling chauffer. As if sensing his gaze, Logan glowered up at him, his moody expression almost asking why _he_ had to drive the runts to school just because Ororo was heading out on a mission. Xavier smiled at him and pointedly tapped his watch, chuckling as Logan discreetly popped his center claw a finger's length. Wheeling himself over to his desk, he gathered some loose paperwork, intending to finish the calculations regarding the school budget. Deciding with a sigh that he would simply have to appropriate additional funding to the building repairs account, Xavier sifted through his notes concerning ground maintenance. Definitely more Storm's area of expertise. Xavier glanced at the clock. 7:14. Ororo wasn't scheduled to leave for another sixteen minutes. _Storm,_ he called out pleasantly,_ I wonder what you would think about budgeting fifte_—

Xavier paused. Something was wrong. Storm wasn't there. He cast his mental net broader, deeper.

He could not sense anyone. Slightly panicked, Xavier expanded his reach to encompass a two mile radius. Nothing. There was nobody. Where were his children? Where was—

The professor blinked and shook his head, then glanced at the clock. 7:16. Ororo would be leaving in less than fifteen minutes, and hopefully when she returned they would know enough to begin planning. But until then, he had the annual budget to keep him occupied. Ground maintenance, one area where Ororo's estimate was more valuable than his. No matter, he could ask her thoughts on the subject after the mission. No use in bothering her while she was getting ready to leave.


	8. Stormy Weather

Another week, another chapter :) My other project isn't going as well as I hoped, so I decided to scrap it until next week and put the finishing touches on this chapter. So !review! because it will make me happy, and i would love to be happy.

Chapter 8

Stormy Weather

Ororo smiled serenely as the sea air played gently with her long, silken hair. She had been pleasantly surprised when the coordinates that the Professor had given her had led directly to her favourite place in all of New York City: the South Street Seaport. Here, the crowds that plagued the city were fewer in number and more relaxed; the air was fresh with salt and rich with fish and spices; the sea was a welcome oasis from the artificially crafted bits of 'nature' that filled the city. Ororo wasn't a fan of Central Park—even without the drug dealers and muggers, it felt too desperate and confined. Not the way had intended, she was sure.

Though it should have been difficult for a woman of such striking beauty to blend into her surroundings, Ororo was an expert at it. _And let's face it,_ she thought, amused._ I have quite the diverse canvas to work with._ It was true. Even with her pure white hair and dark skin, her simple attire of black slacks and a white top with a gray over-robe helped neutralize her appearance in a crowd full of tattoos, loud hair colours, and bright clothing from many cultures.

There had been no outward sign of mutant activity when she had arrived, not that she had expected any. More so that Charles, Ororo felt that this was a trap of some sort, though they had yet to learn the reason. Even so, something was going on, and they needed information. Her best course of action would be to stay incognito, to keep an eye on the area. It had been a few hours since Magneto's signature had been picked up; she'd give him an hour to make his move before going home.

_Might as well make a good morning of it_, she thought, purchasing a fresh-squeezed lemonade from a vendor on the pier. Though her eyes were ever alert and watchful, she put on a marvelous display of casuality, strolling along the wooden dock as she sipped her lemonade, sitting in the spot with her back to the wall she had carefully selected as if she had merely seen it in passing and felt like enjoying the panoramic view of the pier that it offered.

Forty five minutes later, her lemonade was nearly gone, as well as her apprehension that anything bad was going to happen during her stakeout. The smell of the waves was intoxicating, the sea both calming and exhilarating. Recognizing that her close proximity to the waters was lulling her into a false sense of security, Ororo mentally shook herself and stood up, determined to overcome her distractions. Facing away from the sea, she walked across the pier and aimed left, where she knew the financial district lay several blocks inland. She stepped off of the dock and chose a bench on the opposite side of the street, a hot dog vendor blocking her view of the port. The smell of the hot dogs and the dirty underside of the bridge overhead quickly banished her earlier feelings of serenity. Now she was focused, alert, ready for action. Just in time to notice the man who had sat down next to her as she was gathering her senses.

"You," she stated simply, blue eyes quickly narrowing. "Me," he agreed, raising an eyebrow at her fierce stare in an almost challenging manner. "I wondered if I would see you here this morning." Looking out toward the docks, his cold smile froze at the sight of the hot dog vendor. Sighing with theatrical annoyance, he raised his left hand palm up and drew it over in front of him, terrifying the thirty-something man inside the small truck as he levitated it and repositioned it nine feet to the right, clearing the space between the bench and the harbor.

Ororo hadn't taken her eyes off of him for a moment. "What do you want, Magneto?" she asked him, her voice perfectly controlled. He smiled sadly at her, as if he were disappointed that she didn't already know the answer. "What do I always want? For mutants to be free of persecution, to be able to prosper without fear of human agenda. Isn't that what you want?" Inwardly, Ororo cringed, remembering the meeting that Charles had called the previous evening. It was exactly what she wanted. But she knew that whatever Magneto had in mind, she wanted no part of it. And Magneto was toying with her.

"Let me get to the point," he said brusquely, perhaps reading her thoughts on the subject. "I need help from certain members of the X-men to achieve my goals; members, I am sure, who would be less than willing to assist me. Though I deeply admire your talents, and your spirit, I'm afraid that in this particular situation, you are more likely to pose a threat to my mission than you are to endorse it."

Ororo was about to reply when she felt a cloth-covered hand close over her mouth and nose. Struggling to breathe, she struck out at her assailant, who easily dodged her blows. "Thank you Pietro, you may go," Magneto told him, as Ororo's vision began to swim. Peeling the cloth that Quicksilver had used off of her face, Ororo realized belatedly that the thick, sickeningly chemical smell coming from it was chloroform. "Don't worry, my dear," Magneto told her, his voice as thick as fudge as her senses began to shut down, "there will be a place for you in my new empire. Right now, I am afraid you are too much of a liability."

Knowing that she had only seconds of consciousness left, Ororo chose not to reply. Gathering every resource she had, she channeled every last drop of power she possessed into her last move before the world around her grew black and silent.

Picking up her unconscious body, Magneto moved swiftly to the limousine that was waiting for him in the shadows of the bridge. "My wife," he explained to a pair of curious tourists who looked his way. "She's diabetic, I have her insulin in the car." _Too simple_, he thought as the couple nodded at him, the woman peering at Ororo sympathetically.

Back in Bayville, a freak burst of hail rang down upon the mansion, leaving the surrounding area pristine and untouched.

Six miles away, Jean Grey dropped all of the books she was carrying and gasped, cradling her head in her hands.


	9. Talking in Class

I know, I know, this chapter is ridiculously short, but it must be done. And I promise that the next chapter will be up by Friday! I beg for slack, as I have more majors than shoes and just as many part time jobs. I also beg for reviews, because they inspire me to keep writing for your pleasure :) So !review! 'cause you know i love it :D

And GS, I shared the same sick pleasure, remind me to type and send you the line i had originally written.

Chapter 9

"Talking" in Class

A few seconds later, Jean recovered and looked around the hall, thankful that class was in session and that she was not in her study hall, where her outburst certainly would have attracted attention. She quickly gathered her scattered possessions and tore down the hall, simultaneously scanning mentally for any authority figures that might catch her in the act. Grabbing her backpack out of her locker, she quickly threw her books inside and fished her cell phone out of the pocket. "Damn it," she swore softly under her breath, as the number for the mansion rang endlessly. Something was either wrong with the phone lines or with the mansion, because a machine should have picked up her call after five rings. _Or a person_, she thought darkly. Breathing deeply, she concentrated, seeking out the mental signatures of all of the Institute's students.

_Everyone meet in the parking lot after school. Do not go home right away. This is very important, meet in the parking lot after school._

Instantly, the questioning voices began clamoring for her attention inside her head. Sorting through them, she shut them out one by one with bits of reassurance for each, until she found the one she was looking for.

_…gonna ring in five minutes, and we only have one more class before the end of the day. What's happening Jean? I need—_

_Scott,_ she replied, talking over him a bit, _I need you to cover for me in history. Make up whatever lie you have to, just give me the time. I have to reach Jamie over at the middle school and tell him to wait for us instead of catching a ride home, and I need to get a hold of the Professor or Logan and make sure it's safe to go home first._

_I've got your back in history, _he projected, _but what's going on? Why wouldn't the mansion be safe?_

_Because—_she stopped, mentally willing herself to suppress the panic that was threatening to well up inside of her. _Because the phone lines at the mansion are down, and because Storm is in trouble._


	10. Call and Conversation

I know, I'm evil for using a cliffhanger-esque ending (so I might as well apologize in advance for this one...) but I promise answers and happiness (for you, not necessarily them) in the next chapter. Really! I promise!

So review to my hearts content, because the more you review, the happier i am, and the happier i am, the faster i write!

Chapter 10

Call and Conversation

Dinner that evening was a solemn affair. Besides Storm, three others were missing from their midst. Logan had been dispatched almost immediately after Jean had contacted the mansion, armed only with Ororo's last known location and all of the information that Jean had picked up from her last, urgent call. Jean herself and the Professor were absent as well, still hard at work trying to locate Storm or Magneto, while simultaneously tracking Logan lest he meet with any trouble. With so many empty spaces at the table, even Kurt was finding it difficult to do more than pick at his food. Of course, the general loss of appetite could also have been attributed to the fact that Kitty had taken it upon herself to cover for Storm, whose turn it was to cook, but the gloomy atmosphere had little to do with the less than appetizing texture of the pasta primavera.

Excusing herself from the table, Kitty took her plate to the kitchen and began to wash up absently. Her thoughts were not on her task, but on the handwritten note she had left in Lance's locker only half an hour before Jean had contacted them all. Now more than ever she had to know what the Brotherhood was up to, but she knew Lance wouldn't tell her anything until he was sure that none of the other guys could find out what he was doing. It was a remarkable show of faith, believing without question that he would come through when the stakes were this high. Biting her lip nervously, she glanced at the phone. She could only hope that he would come through soon.

Abandoning the kitchen, Kitty slowly climbed the stairs to her room, intent on taking a shower before attempting to do her homework. The distant rumble of clattering silverware and chairs scraping the floor told her that the others had also given up on dinner; she quickened her pace, not in the mood to talk to anyone else. Selecting two pink towels and a half empty bottle of jasmine body wash, she hurried to the bathroom.

Half an hour later, Kitty re-entered her room feeling a little better, if not yet completely relaxed. Changing into her pajamas, she checked her cell phone. One missed call and message. From Lance. Heart in her throat, Kitty entered the password to retrieve her message. At first, there was nothing but static. But just as she was about to curse and hang up, she heard Lance's voice speaking softly over the white noise. She listened intently.

"Kitty," Lance began hesitantly, "It's me."

Pause

"Listen, I can't really talk. Right now, or…damn it.

"I can't tell you much, but…never mind Kelly. He has nothing on you, just a

suggestion that some of the X-men might have wrecked the place. Nothing about

being mutants, so forget him."

Rogue walked in just then and was about to ask if Kitty had seen her math book, but was immediately shushed by the younger girl, who was still listening to Lance's message with her blue eyes wide, afraid to move lest she obscure his voice:

"Kelly's not important," Lance was saying, "but this is. It's not a lot, but pay

attention to the U.N. talks going on in New York City. It's all I can tell you, I'm

sorry. I've already said too much. Listen, I gotta go….Be safe. I'm sorry."

Click

Kitty clutched the phone in her hand, speechless. If what Lance had said was true, then something huge was going down, big enough to involve the United Nations, and surely Magneto was behind it. But if so, they had also just gotten their first big lead. _Oh, Lance,_ she thought to herself, _Thank you._

"What was that all about?" Rogue asked, shaking her out of her reverie. Kitty rushed over to her, a desperate look to her eyes. "Rogue," she breathed, clutching her friend's arm, "This is big. This is like, huge. We have to go get the Professor."

"I wouldn't do that," a tired voice said softly from the doorway. Kitty and Rogue looked up sharply to see Jean leaning in the door frame. "Jean, ya look…" Rogue started, taking in the sight of her hair hanging limply over her shoulders, dark circles formed under her glittering eyes. "Terrible?" the telepath supplied, coming into the room and sitting on the bed. Brushing her hair out of her face, she leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. "Jean, you need to eat, you look like you're getting sick," Kitty admonished her. "Let me get you some dinner, I wrapped up plates for you and the Professor." Jean waved her hand tiredly. "I'm all right, I'm not hungry," she answered, "But if you have some ibuprofen, that would be great." Kitty opened her top drawer and tossed Jean the bottle, then hurried to the bathroom to get her a glass of water. Rogue watched as Jean opened the bottle and dry-swallowed five pills without opening her eyes. _Must be one hell of a headache,_ she thought as Jean massaged her temple, wincing slightly. _That's way too many pills to be downin' on an empty stomach._

Kitty rushed back into the room and handed Jean the water, which she swallowed gratefully. "Thanks," she sighed, holding the cup in her lap. "There's still no sign of Storm or Magneto. Logan's not having much luck, but he's all right. I just talked to him." Kitty handed her a granola bar from her desk. "Eat," she commanded. "Why shouldn't we go see the Professor? I just heard from Lance, and you're not going to believe how big this thing is. Kelly has nothing to do with it; we're talking, like, planetary." Jean shook her head. "I want to know, and we should tell Dr. McCoy," she said. "But right now, I don't think—" She broke off and looked out the window. When she turned back, Rogue and Kitty were startled to see that she was fighting back tears. "Right now, I don't know if we can trust Professor Xavier," she said sadly, her voice barely audible.


End file.
